what with this and that,
with what reason do you get from tit to tat?
the bric-a-brac left by the pell-mell
hustle-bustle will
at the drop of the cat in the hat muddle
your o-so-modern thinking muscle:
neon signs scream fat-faced lies of get quick, rich
cops in cars leer, forked tongue-n-cheeky, make you sit, sick.
can’t stagger no more from bureaucrat
to high-on-shooting-life fat cat;
that semi-automatic affidavit
won’t fast-track you through this one, jack,
this is the proverbial kick-back;
the gun you thought was just quick-cash
crashed your forehead, put the backlash-smack-down your veins,
you better go slack or you’ll crack in pain,
smashed apart by this slam-bangin-
tornado-track-stackeddeck madhouse,
gonna distort-contort-pervert
your every intention my friend
unless you contend, release the tension,
transform the teeming seeming chaos
with collective-necessity-compelled invention, and bend.
blend the booty-shakin’ bop you snatch
as it falls from fifty-fifth floor flats
with jackhammer concussions and cursing convulsions
that strike your harried strut
to provide the street-beat
you need to give your feet that hip hop-step
to propel you and repel that lock-stock-step,
forcefed-barrelvision, dregs-of-drugs, credit-card-incision
mentality and gift you that shift-shapin’, high-flyin’
hard-hittin’ awareness of reality.
what with this and that,
with what reason do we get from tit to tat?
the bric-a-brac left by the pell-mell
hustle-bustle will
at the drop of the cat in the hat muddle
your o-so-modern thinking muscle:
see so many acting like mass-paidoff clones
of apathetic stone, yet all feeling alone
in the shame-game, unable to stomach their own free will,
too comfortable to digest, let others kill-clean-process
in their name while they profess it ain’t complacency,
just another victim of modern-massmurder of agency?
well we’ll sing them strength with soul-imbued skill,
but won’t cut it with that same old pop-slop-swill,
gotta concoct new notion-potions and let ‘em glut on it
distill saintly-spirits to set their blood in motion:
harvest what soul-quaking stimulation scatters our path,
transcend it into life-shaking creation.
